


The Space Between Us

by kristen999



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: Steve is used to Danny's presence by his side; familiar and comfortable and tactile.  It takes being forced apart by the walls of a decompression chamber, Danny on the outside looking in, for the two to finally come to some realizations.





	The Space Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stellarmeadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmeadow/gifts).



> This story was crazy hard to write. I did my due diligence in terms of research, but allowed myself some grey area for creative license. If I messed-up anything, please forgive any inaccuracies. I'm obviously not a diver. :)
> 
> Thank you to Imaginary_iby for her lovely beta.
> 
> Based on a prompt from Stellarmeadow. (Which was more like an evil carrot that she waved in front of me :-P ) I hope you enjoy it!

***  
Neutral buoyancy was the diver’s ultimate goal, to neither sink nor rise while beneath the surface. The further under the water, the more challenging it became. 

Too bad Steve couldn’t enjoy any of it, not with a life in the balance. 

Deep dives took hours of training; it was one of the reasons why he still took part in exercises to keep in practice. The navy spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on his training and while he done his due, Steve didn’t think twice when he was asked to mentor other SEALs.

For amateurs going to a depth of thirty meters was considered deep. Anything below sixty required a mix of breathing gas to avoid oxygen toxicity.

He glanced at the lit-up display of his dive computer at his wrist. They were still 100 meters down. Steve bit his lip in frustration. It wasn’t like he could go any deeper, not with the remains of a ship just below him. 

He swung his underwater light across the expanse of crustaceans and metal. Steve needed to find something, anything that could help Petty Office Moore. 

His mask covered his face and the mouthpiece of his rebreather, the hoses carrying his oxygen mix connecting to the tanks on his back. 

Everything was about equalizing pressure. And the pressure was intense down here. Steve was breathing thirty times harder than he would at the surface.

Kicking with his fins, he continued searching the debris. 

This was only the second time he’d ever worn a jet-pack. Two propellers hung from a waist harness and attached at his thighs. He had the equivalent of joystick controls around his wrists, the thrusters helping him propel through the water. Too bad he didn’t have them when he’d been deployed, it would have helped conserve so much energy. 

Just thinking how they could have helped him during that op in the Gulf of Oman…

He shook his head to clear away the memory, and checked his watch, squinting at the display. Only twenty minutes remaining. It was time to abort.

Steve had been searching part of the underwater wreckage for anything to use as a lever to no avail. Knowing every second counted, Steve swam back to Petty Officer Moore empty-handed.

The SS Fitz was a cargo vessel that sunk in 1955, breaking into over a dozen sections of debris. It was supposed to be stable enough to withstand the disturbance created by two people touching it. Their intel was sorely lacking.

Using a dolphin kick, Steve dived, grabbing a piece of the hull jutting out to hang onto. He bit his bottom lip. Petty Officer Moore’s leg was still trapped beneath a chunk of the debris and the sedimentation. 

“No joy?” Moore’s voice echoed inside the tiny com in Steve’s diving mask. 

Steve shook his head. 

_“Commander McGarrett what is your status? Over.”_

Master Chief Coulter was their dive supervisor monitoring things from the surface. Steve did not envy his position. 

“Moore is still pinned,” Steve radioed. “Over.”

Steve’s voice was distorted, but he knew the master chief understood. There was nothing like having a mission go fubar in multiple ways. 

_“We’re deploying a second rescue unit.”_

Every underwater operation had a rescue unit on stand-by. In this case, the four-man team had been dispatched to a fishing boat in distress. Master Chief Coulter had remained in a rubber boat. That was over an hour ago.

“ETA?” Steve asked keeping his sentence short. Conserving oxygen.

_“Fifty minutes.”_

No good. The problem with secret training ops, they were over an hour away from the nearest navy ship.

“Commander…”

Steve held up a fist, cutting off PO Moore’s reply.

The training mission had been successful up until the last hour. They dove; following proper descent rates then sought out the remains of the old sunken freighter. Used it to practice sabotage techniques, giving PO Moore the experience. 

The main objective was to test the navy’s new wireless communications at deeper depths. Well, that part was a success; command had been able to follow everything from a hundred miles away at Pearl-Hickman. 

It was a four hour operation with five hours’ worth of oxygen. Then the accident had happened. Now there was only sixteen minutes remaining. He shivered despite his wet suit. It was freaking cold at this depth.

“Commander,” Moore repeated. 

Steve cut Moore off again with another fist. The petty officer was young and gung-ho, he didn’t want to be a burden. 

Options, what were their options? Steve did a mental check of his equipment. The rebreather tank on his back, his mask and wet suit. He took a breath, contracting his throat and pushing his jaw to equalize his ears. What else? 

He brushed his gloved hand over his knife, pausing. Scissor-kicking, he turned, keeping his hand on a piece of wreckage. Moore was a SEAL; he knew what Steve needed without verbal commands. He felt the petty officer dig through the pack dangling at his side.

Steve turned around, facing Moore as he handed over one of their miniature mines. Of course it wasn’t any mine; it was magnetic, meant to conflict damage without leaving forensics. It was real, had to be to maintain mission authenticity, but it didn’t have an electric charge…

He checked his watch. Twelve minutes.

Moore twisted his body as much as he could, Steve taking the cue. Rifling through Moore’s pack, Steve found a flare gun. 

Given the complications of underwater explosives and blast energy, precision was key. Plant it too far, it might not do anything, plant it too close, it could blow-up Moore’s leg.

Steve felt a tap to his shoulder and he looked over at Moore who gave him the thumbs up. They’d only known each other a couple hours before this dive, yet the trust was implicit. 

***

Crabbing along the seafloor, Steve placed the mine two meters from where Moore remained pinned. He blew air through his nostrils to clear his mask and checked his watch. Nine minutes. 

Swimming over to Moore, Steve spoke over their coms so Moore, Coulter, and Command could hear his plan. “I’ll denote the mine and it should blow enough of a hole in the debris to free your leg. Then we’ll use our jet packs to reach the surface.” He took a breath then released it. “Master Chief, we’ll need a medical team –“

 _“I’ve already got one on stand-by, Commander,”_ Coulter responded. “We’ll initiate emergency recompression measures once you’re top-side.”

“Commander McGarrett.”

Steve glanced at Moore even though the other man couldn’t see him in the darkness. Steve would get him out of this. Moore was only twenty-three, top of his BUD/S class with a passion for model airplanes. “What is it Petty Officer?”

“When we’re topside, I owe you a case of beer.”

“Roger that,” Steve said.

Then he swam a few meters out – just enough to avoid the blast. The flare wouldn’t create a spark underwater. It wasn’t about combustion – it was about kinetic energy.

Steve aimed and fired.

***

A pressure wave from the explosion struck Steve and sent him backward. He rode the wave until it dissipated, then punched the button to his jetpack, propelling himself toward his team mate.

PO Moore was no longer pinned by the wreckage, but he wasn’t kicking with his legs to swim toward him.

Steve caught up to him in seconds. He grabbed Moore by the shoulders; it felt like Steve was the only thing keeping him from sinking. “Report, Petty Officer.”

“I’ve got shrapnel in my leg sir… but I’m good.” Moore flicked his wrist at his dive computer. “We need to go, sir.”

Even with the poor quality of audio, Steve could hear the strain in Moore’s speech. There wasn’t time to examine him and gauge the extent of his injuries. Even with the propulsion from their jet-backs, based on their rate of ascent, they would barely reach the surface in time before running out of oxygen.

Steve checked the dive profile measurements of computer, reviewing the current ambient pressure. 

“Sir, I can hold my breath for three minutes.” The _same as you went_ unsaid. 

Well not three, not anymore, but Steve could get close to two. 

Unrolling a dive cord, Moore took one end and Steve the other. Adjusting the joystick, Steve squeezed the controls and activated the propellers. At four knots, it would take six minutes and twenty seconds. 

They had five minutes and ten seconds of oxygen remaining. 

***

Danny usually spent most of his time in the passenger side of his own car yelling at Steve for driving like a maniac, except if you gave Danny the right motivation, or in this case; fear, he broke even more traffic laws.

He left the engine running as he ran over and pounded on the door to Steve’s house. 

Junior swung it open with a duffle slung over his shoulder. 

“Good. You’re ready. Let’s go,” Danny ordered.

Junior obeyed without question, following Danny into the car, strapping on his seatbelt as Danny gunned it down the driveway.

“Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you tell me what the emergency is?”

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Danny pulled out his cell phone and tossed it at Junior’s lap. Then he dodged a minivan that swerved into their lane.

He watched Junior read the text message out of the corner of his eye as Danny white-knuckled the steering-wheel.

Junior cleared his throat. “This is a text from Pearl-Hickman. Commander McGarrett has to remain on base for treatment in a recompression chamber and if you have any questions you need to contact a rep of the Navy Fleet and Family Support Program.”

It took every ounce of self-control for Danny not to wave his hands, which was hard to do at the speed he was going. He even had on his flashing lights to ensure people moved the hell out of his way.

“Yeah, like hell I’m calling some rep.”

“I take it we’re going to Pearl-Hickman?”

“That would be correct.”

Junior didn’t snap back his voice perfectly calm. “We need to have the proper credentials to be allowed into restricted areas.”

“Yeah, I have this,” Danny growled, waving at his badge.

Junior made a sound of disagreement and that only fired-Danny up even more. “I don’t give a damn about procedures or secret handshakes. Who sends a message like that? Like Steve is a fucking package stuck in customs, and if I need help I can call customer service.”

“If he was conducting classified maneuvers during his reserve drill then –”

“Then I will ram this car through security and park it on their regulation book. So, if you have any connections, or drinking buddies left on that base, you better pull in some favors.”

“I cut all my ties with the Navy when I quit the teams. My only connection left is Commander McGarrett.”

It was the wrong answer.

***

Danny did not have pull with the navy, but he was still second in command of the governor’s taskforce, which included a direct phone line in emergencies. He was not afraid to pull that card.

He gained a security badge with special clearance and an escort to Pearl-Hickman’s Diving Lab. Except that was as far as Danny had been allowed to go before two large sailors blocked his path.

“Hold on a moment.” Junior pulled Danny aside before he could blow a gasket. 

Junior flagged down a petty officer who walked by in a hurry with a clipboard and had a short conversation before returning at Danny’s side. 

“Okay. So, Commander McGarrett was transferred from a rescue bell to this facility –”

“What the hell is a rescue bell and why the hell does he need this kind of treatment?” Danny ran his hands through his hair, his heart racing. “Wasn’t this a training mission, you know with supervision and million dollar equipment and a whole naval base for Pete’s sake.”

“There was an accident, Commander –”

“His name is Steve. You live with him, so you could maybe try calling him by his first name?” 

Junior continued talking to Danny in the same calm tone of voice he’d been using the last hour. “Commander McGarrett’s teammate was injured and without the commander’s quick thinking he would have died. Commander…” Junior paused and cleared his throat. “Steve rescued him and brought him up to the surface without the proper ascent stops.”

Danny breathed heavily through his nose and out through his mouth. In and out like Steve had taught. 

“I want to talk to his doctor.” Danny stared at Junior giving him exactly sixty seconds to work some skills before Danny did it his own way.

Junior looked over at the sailors guarding the door and the personnel walking around and gave Danny a curt nod. “I’m on it.”

***

Danny was not a stupid man; he knew about decompression sickness on a fundamental level. He needed more information to understand what was happening to Steve, but his cell phone had been confiscated and he couldn’t Google a damn thing. 

Junior reappeared with a petite middle-aged woman in tow, a corpsman based on her uniform. Danny tried reigning in his anxiety so he could pay her the proper attention.

“Detective Williams, my name is Dr. Iona. I understand you have some questions regarding Commander McGarrett’s treatment.”

“Yeah, he has, you know, the bends. And while I get that, I need to know what this means for Steve. And what you’re doing to treat him.”

Dr. Iona nodded at him. “Diving is all about equalization. Commander McGarrett and Petty Officer Moore followed proper dive procedures during their descent, taking prearranged stops to adjust to the pressure, and control the buoyancy in their lungs.”

“Right. Because they were breathing at pressures greater than if they were running around the beach.”

“Correct. When we’re on land, our bodies are exposed to various pressures caused by all the gases in the atmosphere. Nitrogen specifically.” Dr. Iona paused like she was giving a presentation. “As a diver descends, the increased pressure forces more gas to dissolve into they’re body fluids and tissues.”

“Yeah. So, when they start going back to the surface they’re supposed to make stops, so the gas has time to leave the body.” Danny grimaced, looking between her and Junior. “I take it that didn’t happen?”

Junior frowned. “There was an accident and Steve and PO Moore had to ascend quickly, without stops. “

“What type of accident?”

Dr. Iona glanced at Junior then ignored Danny’s question. “The important thing is that Commander McGarrett is receiving decompression treatment. And he’s being given everything to make him feel comfortable inside our dive chamber. One of our dive physicians is in there with him to ensure he receives the highest standard of care.” 

She smiled at Danny as if her explanation was all that he needed.

“I want to see him.”

Her smile faded. “I’m sorry Detective; you’re not authorized to –”

“That man in there has half my liver,” Danny said, pointing at the doors separating him from Steve. “I donated it to him after he took three rounds from a high caliber machine gun. Oh, and he was exposed to radiation last year. And if you have his medical file, you'd know he’s a magnet for all kinds of danger, so I want to see him to ensure something as ridiculous as nitrogen bubbles doesn’t cause his demise. And if you knew me and my tenacity, like flying all the way to Afghanistan to ensure I collected money he owned me in a poker game, then you might only understand a fraction of what I’m capable of doing when I set my mind to it.”

Danny took a deep breath trying to calm his racing heart, his voice tight with the barest of control. “I want to see him.”

Dr. Iona’s eyebrows rose and she glanced at the entrance to the diving lab then at Danny. “Let me see what I can do.”

***

The two sailors moved away from the entrance and Danny and Junior followed Dr. Iona into a sterile looking room that looked like something out of NASA. The walls were all white with white-tiled floors and pipes that ran along the ceiling. Off to the side was an area with a chain roping off the diving lab. 

The decompression chamber looked like a short stubby submarine with one side shrouded by a wall of gauges and dials. Three men sat at swivel chairs, their collective focus on all the equipment they were operating. There was a bank of TV monitors above their head with a video feed from the inside. It was something out of Danny’s worst nightmares.

Danny swallowed against a bout of nausea. 

A man in naval fatigues with shoulders broader than a mountain marched over. He crossed his massive arms and nodded at Dr. Iona. “Is this them?” 

Dr. Iona nodded. “This is Master Chief Coulter. He was in charge of the dive.”

“I should have known that Commander McGarrett’s other team would be as obstinate as he is.”

Danny looked from Coulter to four guys the size of oxen loitering around in the back of the room. 

“They’re part of Petty Officer’s Moore’s team,” Junior explained, nodding at the group. “They’re splitting their time between Dive labs.”

“Yeah.” Danny took a deep breath and stared at the metal tube, trying to calm his nerves and failing. “Because there’s more than one of these awful things.”

Chief Coulter must have caught Danny staring at the chamber with contempt. “It’s not as scary as it looks. The entry is through the hatch at the bow of the chamber. Once it’s closed and pressurization begins the patient remains locked inside with a medical corpsman. They get one-on-one attention.”

Dread filled a pit inside Danny’s stomach, the idea that Steve was basically trapped inside for hours, maybe even days. His heart started pounding. “Jeesh, it’s like a freaking tomb.”

“Hey, hey, it’s good, okay?” Junior laid a hand on Danny’s arm, encouraging him to walk closer to the thing. “The chamber has two small portholes that you can see into,” he said, pointing. “And once you’re inside, you can see outside of it, too. So, it doesn’t feel as claustrophobic as it appears.”

Danny’s eyebrow rose. “You’ve been inside one of these things?”

“Several times. So, has Commander McGarrett. It was part of our training.”

That didn’t make Danny feel any better, but he kept following Junior until he was close enough to make out more details. 

Coulter followed behind them and started explaining a few of the functions. “The primary means of communication between the diver technician team and those inside is through a two-way microphone headset and video camera. You can see and talk to Commander McGarrett while he’s receiving treatment.”

“Which is what again?” Danny demanded. 

“Fluids, oxygen, and slow, monitored depressurization that releases the extra nitrogen built-up inside the Commander’s body.” Coulter grabbed Danny’s shoulder and gave him a shake, like it was supposed to provide support. “The men and women here are pros; they treat a case of DCI sickness almost once a week.”

“What about PO Moore?” Junior asked. “How is he doin’?”

Coulter let go of Danny’s shoulder. “Given his injuries, it was decided to try to stabilize him before they perform surgery.”

“Inside one of those?” Danny asked horrified.

“There’s no other choice.”

Danny wiped a hand over his face, it felt like his blood sugar had plummeted, but he knew deep down it was the effects of severe anxiety on his body. 

“Go talk to him,” Coulter encouraged. “The technician supervisor will help. And the Medical Dive Officer can answer any questions.”

Licking his lips, Danny walked toward the second port hole and peered through it. Steve lay on a gurney; most of his body was covered by a thin sheet, and a freaking large oxygen mask obscured most of his face. God, it was enormous. Steve kept curling his fingers, playing with them. It was a nervous tic. Steve didn’t get nervous, he was strong and vibrant, this was…

Steve was anxious.

“What am I going to do with you?” Danny whispered under his breath. 

His throat closed up on him. He’d seen Steve in every state of hospital bed with every type of injury and he’d never looked so small. Danny pressed a hand against the glass, his chest constricting.

He’d always been able to touch him, now Danny couldn’t even hold Steve’s hand.

***

Steve learned meditation his first year aboard a carrier. It got him through stints on submarines, during transports, long nights in the desert, it came in handy during times of stress. But it was challenging when it felt like his skin was crawling.

He stretched his fingers, wiggling them. Inhaling the oxygen flowing from the rebreather. But the sensation of thousands of ants skittering over his skin set him on edge.

“How are we doing, Steve?” Linda asked.

Once he realized that he would be sharing the same confined space for the next sixteen hours, Steve had asked Lt. Davis if they could drop the formalities.

He felt trapped to the gurney by the rebreather supplying him with oxygen. Not to mention an IV in one arm, and a Foley elsewhere to deal with the sheer amount of fluids being pumped into him. 

Steve massaged the base of his skull. “My neck hurts.” At least the rebreather contained a miniature microphone. 

She typed his newest update on his tablet. “Has the joint pain spread anywhere else?”

Sudden flare-ups of inflammation in his shoulders and elbows made him empathize for those who suffered from arthritis. “Negative.” 

Maybe if he just remained still, cleared his mind, focused on a picture of the beach, everything else would fade away.

_“Steve?”_

That was Danny’s voice, but Danny couldn’t be here. His heart started to pound. Hallucinations weren’t part of DCI sickness. 

“Steve?” Danny’s voice had that tight tone that meant he was stressed.

Steve opened his eyes and moved his head far enough to look over at the port window, the ceiling spinning along with the change in motion. Steve groaned.

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Steve hated it when Danny was worried. He swallowed and his ears made a horrible popping noise. “Vertigo.”

“Okay, that sucks. I’m sorry for making you move your head.”

The dizziness slowly subsided and Steve stared at Danny’s very worried face. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

But Danny wasn’t authorized to be here. “How…?”

“Do you think you’re the only ninja on the team?”

It took a lot of effort not to laugh, laughing was bad. It made it feel like he was hanging upside down. 

“Who’s your friend?” Danny asked.

“Lieutenant Davis, sir.” Linda turned in her swivel chair. “I’m overseeing Steve’s care.”

“Danny Williams. And how’s my boy doing?”

“We’ve entered hour three of the treatment and he’s doing great.”

Steve knew Linda’s job was to keep her patient calm, but that type of forced demeanor would set-off alarm bells for Danny. “I’m okay.”

“Um, yeah, please excuse me if I don’t trust someone with a high pain threshold to give me a self-diagnosis.”

Linda stood up, Steve couldn’t tell what type of expression she was giving Danny but her tone was still upbeat. “I’m monitoring Steve and conducting hourly tests, Detective Williams. He’s in the best hands.”

Tests had been blood draws and conducting respiratory and neurological checks. Steve wasn’t sure if Danny would enjoy having a front seat view if Steve’s symptoms continued to get worse before they got better.

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you get me a status on PO Moore?”

There was a slight pause before Danny replied. “Sure, I can do that. “

It was the first time Steve was able to focus enough that he noticed how Danny’s hand was pressed flat against the window. He felt a different type of ache settle in his stomach and Steve wished the hell he could reach out and reassure him that things would be okay.

***

Danny clenched his jaw and returned to where Junior stood off to the side. “That sounded like a distracting technique.”

“Asking about PO Moore?”

“No. Yes. Maybe it was both.”

“I believe Commander McGarrett would want to know about the status of his dive buddy.”

“And I would agree with you, but you don’t know Steve like I do. He makes stoic an art form. What is it that he’s not telling me? And his doctor, she sounded way too cheerful; most docs are serious with no real personalities.”

Coulter nodded at the recompression chamber. “Lt. Davis is a medical diver; it’s her job is to keep her patient calm and stress-free.”

“But why? Steve’s on oxygen, he’s in this chamber that’s, you know, providing depressurization. He’s getting treatment.” Danny watched Junior and Coulter exchange expressions. He snapped his fingers. “That, what’s with the looks?”

Coulter placed his hands on his hips. “The treatment helps eliminate the gas bubbles inside Commander McGarrett’s body.”

“I hear a but….”

“But it takes hours.” Coulter worked his jaw back and forth. “And in the meantime all those bubbles can cause a lot of pain from the tissue damage. You see, it’s not just about getting rid of the nitrogen bubbles, it’s about reducing the size of them.”

“Because they’re bigger…” Danny swallowed, wiping a hand down his face, trying not to let his imagination run away from him. “Right. Of course they are.”

Coulter opened his mouth to add something, but snapped his jaw shut.

Danny turned his attention toward Junior when he thought both SEALs were discussing something behind his back. 

“Come on,” Junior said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Commander McGarrett wanted us to check on his teammate.”

“Are you trying to corral me?”

“I’m trying to help,” Junior said. 

“No, this is definably corralling.”

Danny didn’t want to visit the other guy; he wanted to remain with Steve. Junior must have been developing his people reading skills, because instead of forcing him to leave, he walked him toward the other SEALs.

The introductions were a blur to Danny. Names and ranks, gruff faces and stoic attitudes. The guy in charge, Lieutenant Lopez, did most of the talking. Danny appreciated the sentiment of them keeping watch, but his main focus was back at that damn chamber.

“How is Petty Office Moore?” Junior asked.

His question drew Danny’s attention back to the other four men, guilt plaguing him for not paying closer attention. 

“He’s hanging tough,” Lopez said. “Shrapnel caused a lot of bleeders. They stabilized him in the bell before operating on him in the other lab.”

“Now they’re just worried about –”

Lopez elbowed his teammate, a guy who looked like the youngest member of the SEAL team. “You just owe us another case of beer. We don’t jinx our brothers, got it?” Lopez nodded at Junior and Danny. “McGarrett may spend most of his time playing civilian, but he’s still a hell of a SEAL. You tell him we owe him for what he did.”

Danny really wanted to correct the Lieutenant about his choice of words, but he was too distracted by an increased flurry of activity of the dive techs, including Dr. Iona who was speaking through a headset.

Danny was already half way across the room to find out why.

***

Danny had barely reached the chain before Master Chief Coulter stepped in front of him. Since smacking into the guy would be like hitting a brick wall, Danny backed up a step.

“Hey now, I need you to take a deep breath,” Coulter said, holding both hands up in a placating manner. “You ain’t gonna help McGarrett by charging over and distracting everyone’s whose job it is to help him.”

“Then do you want to tell me what’s got everyone so rattled, or do I need to physically move you out of the way?” Danny said last part to defuse some of the tension, but what Coulter didn’t know was that he was not lying.

Based on Coulter’s snort, maybe he did. “No one is rattled. These are professionals dealing with very highly technical issues. Every dial, every button controls some aspect of that chamber. Oxygen mix, CO2 levels, compressors, purification systems, not to mention constant communication with the tender inside.”

“The who?” Danny asked. 

“The doc, we call them the tenders, because you know…”

“Poor Navy humor?”

Coulter cracked a smile. “Probably. Are we calmer?”

“By what definition?” But during their little chat, Danny noticed that the dive technicians had settled into their seats. Dr. Iona was still talking to the corpsman inside the chamber, but her demeanor was composed. “Is everything good?”

Coulter seemed to chew on some thoughts before speaking. “McGarrett decided he wanted to walk around, and well, both docs thought it wasn’t such a good idea.”

“It’s not?” Danny asked, wondering how taking a walk could cause such a stir. 

***

The pressure in Steve’s lungs was new. It felt like someone was squeezing them with every breath and the damn crawling sensation had spread across his back, like thousands of pinpricks pushing along his skin from the inside.

He breathed in through his nose. One, two, three, four. Steve held his breath for another four count before exhaling. One, two, three, four.

“How are you feeling, Steve?” Linda rolled over in her chair and took his wrist, resting her fingers at his pulse point. “I recognize the combat breathing. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“This crawling sensation…” He drew a breath and bit his lip. “It’s really… annoying.” 

Steve had a decent imagination and he couldn’t help visualizing bubbles popping inside his veins and under his skin. Damaging his body from the inside.

“I know it sucks. It’s a weird feeling.”

He shook his head which was a bad idea, vertigo made it feel like he was falling. He grit his teeth, frustrated. “This shouldn’t bother me this much.”

“This is biological, Steve, not mental. Your body is going through a lot of stress and it’s uncomfortable.”

“I’ve gone through advanced SERE training, BUD/s and --”

“Some of the most strenuous training in the world. I get it, Commander, I do. You’re as tough as nails.” Linda took her stethoscope from where it hung around her neck and placed the ear tips into her ears in a very familiar gesture. “You know the drill. Could you take a deep breath for me?”

Steve inhaled.

“Okay, exhale.”

He obeyed and the fist around his lungs squeezed harder. 

“It’s okay, Steve. The tissues in your lungs are inflamed. I’ve been monitoring your vitals and your respiration rate is bit elevated, but you’re doing fine. The inflammation is making it feel like you’re having a hard time, so I’m going to increase your fluids.”

What Steve needed to do was move. “I’m good, doc. I just need to walk around.”

Swinging his legs around, Steve pushed up with his arms, getting more upright, breathing heavily though his mask.

“Whoa, Commander. I think you should remain still.”

Steve squeezed his eyes closed. “You don’t know me very well.”

“No, but I do know how to treat people with DCI sickness. The first few hours are the most painful, but I must insist that you do not get up right now. Give yourself a few hours; allow the treatment to take its course.”

Linda stood in front of him, both hands gripping his biceps. “Steve, I need you to trust me. The best thing for you is to remain still. I can see about some analgesics, but please sit back.”

Steve’s whole body hurt, he was dizzy and sick to his stomach, but something told him to obey. Exhaling, he looked over at his physician, realization dawning. He had a large amount of nitrogen bubbles circulating inside his body. His pulse rate increased. “You’re worried about an air embolism.”

 _“What the hell?”_ Danny’s voiced echoed inside the chamber. 

Knowing he was freaking Danny out, Steve started lying back down. Most decompression sickness was caused by an accident. Divers would make their ascent stops, but either didn’t take enough time at each one or used the incorrect mixture of gas. He and Moore had made zero stops, and worse, they had ascended at a rapid clip. 

It was a miracle gas bubbles hadn’t entered the arteries to his heart. 

But Linda seemed more worried about ones entering his lungs. Right. Listen to the person with the most expertise. Steve allowed her to help him get back in bed as she smoothed out his IV. 

“I’m increasing the dose of dexamethasone in your IV which might help a little with the distress and maybe some of the dizziness,” she told him.

Steve readjusted the rebreather over his face. Danny hadn’t said another word which was a never a good thing. 

“Maybe you should ask your friend to come back later?” Linda asked. “This must be very difficult on him and his stress can only add to your own.”

“No. Danny stays.”

“Commander…”

“You don’t understand…” Steve closed his eyes and fought against the feeling that his skin was peeling off in layers. His voice shook. “I need Danny to stay. Okay? I don’t want him going anywhere.”

“Okay, Steve. We’ll make sure he remains.”

***

Danny knew what an air embolism was. His best friend’s dad dropped dead of one when he was forty-three years old. 

His chest had constricted at the mention of the very words and one minute he was staring at the back of Lt. Davis’ shoulders, the words air embolism echoing inside his headphones, and the next minute his hands were planted on his knees as he bent over in a horrible attempt to catch his breath.

“Just breathe, man, you’re gonna be all right,” Coulter’s baritone voice soothed in his ear. 

“Yeah, I got it.” After three or four more deep breaths, Danny straightened up and started breathing through his nose like a normal person. “I’m good.”

Coulter didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Look man, this is some scary shit. No one’s going to fault you for needing a minute.”

Junior appeared from thin air and was walking toward Danny with a water bottle. “I got you this.”

Danny stared at the water bottle, at Coulter, at all the techs studying their rows of controls, at Dr. Iona discussing something with the tech supervisor. All these people were here to help Steve and that was his fucking job and no one did it better. 

Danny took the water bottle from Junior. “Is there anything else you two think I should know, or don’t think I should know, or do I have to learn about it second-hand?”

“No, that’s the worst of it,” Junior told him.

Danny poked Junior in the chest. “Don’t ever keep something like that from me again, understood?”

Junior straightened at attention. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

Taking a gulp of water, Danny took the headphones that had slipped down around his neck and put them back on. He marched over to the port window just in time to hear Steve tell his doctor that he needed Danny to stay with him. Steve’s words made all the hair along the back of Danny’s neck stand on end.

“I’m not going anywhere, babe. I’m right here.”

Lt. Davis blocked Danny’s view of Steve as she moved around his gurney; she glanced over her shoulder and smiled when she saw him. “It looks like your friend is back, Steve.”

Even though Steve’s face was obscured by the black oxygen mask, Danny could tell by his stiff posture that Steve was hurting. He really hated this stupid chamber. Time was the real enemy, so Danny would do whatever it took to help make it go as fast as possible.

“Hey, Master Chief, do you have your cell phone?” Danny asked.

“Yeah.”

“Could I borrow it?”

Coulter handed Danny his cell phone and Danny smiled when he got a signal. He started searching the game applications until he found the one he was looking for. “So, babe. Do you remember Mad Libs?”

“Is that the game where you ask the other person for a bunch of random words to fill in the blanks of a story?”

“You got it in one,” Danny said with a smile. He scrolled through until he found one of the story templates with a list of words that needed to be filled out. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Danny looked at the first blank and laughed. “An action word ending in ing.”

***

This wasn’t Steve’s first stint in a recompression chamber. He’d been in one during a training exercise and one time after an op. But they’d only been precautions. 

Steve had headphones then, but he wouldn’t trade anything in the world for a Danny Williams.

Steve didn’t tell Danny that his feet were starting to go numb. He wrote it down on the pad of paper Linda gave him to help play the game with Danny. His handwriting wasn’t the best given the fact that his fingers trembled, but he managed to scribble something and hand it to her. 

She responded by increasing his O2 levels to 100 percent, sending him into a warm fuzzy haze.

“I enjoy long, _evil walks_ on the beach, getting _shot at_ in the rain and _serendipitous_ encounters with _walruses._ ” Danny snickered as he read the next part of the story. “I really like piña coladas mixed with _pee_ , and romantic, candle-lit _Frenchmen._ I am well-read from _Dr. Seuss_ to Vlad the Impaler. I know I'm not very attractive in my picture, but it was taken _9,001_ days ago, and I have since become more _insane.”_

“Well, that last part is very accurate,” Danny added.

Steve chuckled. And he dug his fingers into the gurney when all he wanted was to scratch his arms. Sometimes all he could do was focus on his breathing and listen to Danny’s voice, the way he pronounced his R’s, the way his Jersey accent got heavy whenever he said _water._

Danny continued asking Steve for words. Silly sounds, nouns, famous people. Sometimes it took a while for Steve to answer, his brain felt stuffed with cotton, and a heavy fatigue had settled into every inch of his body.

Danny kept talking and talking and talking, his words a balm to Steve’s soul, to the aches and pains and the weird sensation of the whole room spinning whenever he opened his eyes.

Every once and a while Steve was clear-headed enough to answer some of the questions. Batman, the DMZ, he might have said kittens, because Steve could really use something soft about now.

“When we get home, Eddie is going to be very happy to see you, and I’m sure he’ll let you pet and snuggle with him all night.”

Steve clung to that idea, to soothing images, things that gave him comfort, happiness, anything to help ease the pain and anxiety digging into his flesh and bones. “I’d rather lie down next to you,” he whispered to Danny, or maybe they were thoughts inside his head. “I always feel better when I’m with you.”

“We can arrange that, babe,” Danny’s voice came over the coms.

Steve drifted away on a cloud of oxygen with a smile.

***

Danny’s throat hurt from talking and he was still hungry even after eating a sandwich Junior had scavenged for him a couple hours earlier. But Steve had stopped fidgeting and mumbling odd things. 

“He’s fallen asleep,” Lt Davis told him over the radio. “I think the worst part is over.”

All the tension in Danny’s muscles bled away and he slumped into the chair Coulter had grabbed for him hours ago. “Thank goodness.”

“We’ve hit the nine hour mark. If he continues to make progress, I think he should be fully recovered in another ten hours.”

“Ten?” Danny rubbed at his dry, exhausted eyes. “Will he sleep that long?”

“Given the stress to his body from the ordeal, I’d say he should sleep for most of it.”

Danny looked around. Junior had gone with Coulter to grab more food for them. Then he spotted Lopez who walked over when Danny caught his gaze. “So, do you guys have a cot around here?”

“I’ve got a bedroll.”

It didn’t sound like the most appealing thing in the world, but since Danny didn’t have any plans of leaving his spot, then it would have to do.

***

Sleep eluded Danny which was to be expected inside a military facility with wandering SEALs and naval personnel. 

Danny’s thoughts kept drifting toward Steve’s earlier rambling.

Of course Steve was under a great deal of emotional and physical stress and his illness was probably affecting him mentally. But it was the way Steve had admitted that Danny was what comforted him, with a tone so raw and unguarded that it had made Danny want to rip open the chamber door and go inside and hold him. 

Why now? Why after eight years of living out of each other’s pockets and near-death experiences did Danny’s heart suddenly fill with so much want? But this wasn’t the time, and definitely not the place.

He rolled onto to his side and stared at that morbid metal tube, noticing a shadow move across the floor. Danny looked up to find Junior staring down at him. “What?”

“Commander McGarrett is going to be all right.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lt Davis had given them her most recent update. The last blood gas results were good and Steve’s vitals had stabilized. But Junior was still staring at him and Danny found it disconcerting. “Something else on your mind?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re an even worse liar than Steve. SEAL school needs to add poker lessons to its training lessons.”

“It’s just that…time’s kind of short, sir. I may not have been part of the team very long, but from what I’ve seen, you and Commander McGarrett keep missing some key objectives.”

“Key objectives.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You and I need to have a talk about mammal to mammal communication skills, the same one I had with Steve a few years ago.”

Junior smirked. “Okay.”

“Go,” Danny said, making a shooing motion.

“I was thinking of finding some coffee, did you want –”

“Yes, please, and thank you.”

Danny looked at his watch. Six hours remaining.

***

Steve sat on the edge of the gurney. He felt like he’d been incapacitated for weeks. Every muscle ached and his energy levels were at rock-bottom. 

“The muscle fatigue will probably last several days,” Linda told him as she tapped his discharge notes onto her tablet. “You may also experience headaches or even ringing in the ears. If any of those symptoms last for more than a few hours, than you need to call me. Don’t ignore it, don’t hope it goes away. Call me.”

“Roger that.”

“Don’t worry, doc, I’ll make sure Mr. Stoic obeys,” Danny said over the com.

Steve raised an eyebrow at that, but he was grinning at Danny through the porthole. 

Linda looked over at the window than at Steve, biting her lip with a smile. “Well, given you’ll need someone around for a couple days after you’re discharged, I know I don’t have anything to worry about.”

After nineteen hours, Steve was ready to go home. He didn’t even care that Linda had to remove all his various tubes, or that all he had to change into was a scrub top and pants.

He waited until she was done and wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders, leaning heavily on her. And as Steve stood in the compartment between the inner and outer hatch for pressurization, he thought of Danny, at the hours Danny had spent talking to him, making sure he was okay, distracting him when he wasn’t.

In a moment of weakness, Steve had admitted to Danny that he represented Steve’s ultimate source of comfort. And Danny, Danny had rolled with it. Something warm bloomed inside Steve’s chest.

***

Steve limped into the dive lab and was greeted by a small crowd. Technicians clapped him on the back and members of PO Moore’s SEAL team formed a circle around him.

Lieutenant Lopez held out his hand. “That was a hell of a job, Commander. Your reputation is the real deal.”

Steve shook the other man’s hand. “How is he?”

“Getting ready to be transferred to Tripler for additional surgery.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Alive is better than dead,” Lopez said.

Yeah, it was. And the person Steve had been waiting hours to see was standing back with Junior, waiting.

“Excuse me,” Steve told the group.

Dr. Iona had a wheelchair waiting for him, but Steve ignored it for the moment, and started walking toward Danny on wobbly legs. 

After the first two steps Steve’s balance failed. He started going down, but Danny was there, grabbing onto him, holding him upright. After a second or two Steve found his footing, both his hands gripping Danny’s shoulders, Danny shoring him up. Like always. 

Steve desperately wanted to do something very impulsive.

“What’s an adjective for how you’re acting right now?” Danny asked.

“Hopeful,” Steve said in Danny’s ear.

Danny made a sound of relief, wrapping his arms around Steve’s back. “We’re both such idiots.”

Steve’s brain was still a bit fuzzy, his words failing him, but Danny was a step ahead. He stroked a callused thumb over Steve’s face, then firmly down Steve’s bicep. With both hands holding onto Steve’s arms, Danny leaned forward and brushed a kiss to Steve’s lips that left his mouth tingling in pleasure.

Adrenaline pumping, Steve angled his head and returned the kiss, soft and tender and everything that Steve wanted to give, wanted to feel. Danny’s hand strayed into Steve’s hair, and they kissed again, and a third time, until they panted into each other’s mouths, their foreheads resting against each other. Basking in new sense of joy and release. 

“It’s about time.”

Steve pulled away and glanced at Junior who walked away with a grin. 

Exhaling, Steve returned his gaze at Danny and smiled. “How long before he calls everyone else?”

“That depends if there is any money involved.”

“Well, you just made me fifty bucks,” Linda said as she walked toward Dr. Iona, the two exchanging money.

Steve stared at Danny. “Um…”

Danny grinned, looking relived and a little punch-drunk on exhaustion. “I don’t know and I don’t care. All I want is to go home.”

“Home?”

“In bed, with you safe and secure.”

It sounded like heaven to Steve’s ears. “I think the only thing I might be good for in the next few days is sleep.”

If Steve thought Danny might be disappointed, he was dead wrong.

“Sleep is my second favorite thing in the world, babe.” Danny adjusted his arm until it wrapped around Steve’s shoulders and began guiding him toward the wheelchair.

“And what’s your favorite?” Steve asked, leaning into Danny.

“Well, if we both get a lot of rest in the next couple of days, I would be glad to show you.”

Steve would dedicate one hundred percent of his focus toward recovery in order to find out.

***

Fini-

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